


His Gift

by DesertVixen



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commodore Clement Koudelka burns an offering for Aral...</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseveare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseveare/gifts).



The late-summer dawn was warm as they walked down the beach. Sand always gave him a little trouble, but today there was no rush, no audience to see if the tall man in parade red-and-blues with the swordstick stumbled.

Commodore Clement Koudelka watched as his wife knelt to set up the tripod and pan for offerings, smoothing the aromatic wood shavings before she began to lay down locks of blonde and silvery hair – from him, from her, from their daughters. On top of that, Drou lay a small satin bag that held groats from their wedding circle. The bags had been made from scraps of her wedding attire, per custom, and filled with the groats painstakingly saved by friends. It was a custom in the district that the Droushnakovi family hailed from, with the bags used as good-luck charms.

“Is that the last one?” 

Each of their three married daughters had worn one of the charms pinned inside her gown, and over the years others had been given to young women that Drou had taken under her wing. Empress Laisa had even carried one.

“No, there are still a few in reserve,” she replied, giving him a small smile. She had saved one for their youngest daughter, Kareen, and a few others. The bags were also used for offerings like this one.

Koudelka reached into his pocket and pulled out an old battered set of red lieutenant’s tabs. He stood there for a long moment, before slowly kneeling beside his wife to place them in the tripod. They reminded him of that day at the ImpMil hospital, when he’d been convinced that medical retirement would be his own dubious reward for his service, that he would find himself wishing for the quick, clean mercy of a death in space or a slit throat.

Instead, Aral Vorkosigan had rescued him, given him a promotion, made him his secretary. The Vor system’s nepotism had worked for the grocer’s son. The road had not been an easy one, and even after being rescued by the Vorkosigans, he had almost thrown that second chance away because he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. They had given Koudelka a place when chance had stripped him of the one he had earned.

Of course, Koudelka thought with a wry grin, his background had been helpful a time or two, as he thought about his ride in the back of a vegetable truck with Lady Alys and her newborn son. In return, Lady Alys had gifted them with the house by the sea. A house now filled with their daughters and sons-in-law, and their grandchildren.

In a way, his whole life had been a symbol of the changes to Barrayaran society. Nepotism had played a role, but he had also been lucky enough to live in an era where a grocer’s son had options besides selling vegetables. Instead, he had been able to earn a place based on his intelligence and ability, not his ancestors. He had fallen in love with Drou, even if he’d had no idea how to handle it – another gift that he owed to the Vorkosigans. 

In return, Koudelka and Drou had helped to create the new Barrayar, one where everyone had more possibilities. He had been reluctant on some of them, such as not having a son who would carry on his name. Cordelia Vorkosigan had convinced Drou that daughters would be an advantage in a society where too many couples had opted to use the sex selection techniques available to have sons. She had been right, he thought, even if his girls hadn’t married the bright young officers he had hoped for. She had also convinced Drou to try using the uterine replicator for their third child, although Koudelka acknowledged that it had not taken much persuasion. They had become living examples for the Barrayarans who were not Vor, proof that Barrayar was changing for the better.

But none of it would have happened without those lieutenant’s tabs. 

Koudelka could still recall then-Lady Vorkosigan stepping into help him fasten them, how he had said he didn’t want new tabs because people would think he’d only become a lieutenant yesterday. He didn’t know if Aral Vorkosigan had known how much those tabs meant to him. Koudelka had passed on other sets of tabs to young officers he had taken under his wing, but never this set. Instead, he had kept them in his desk or in his pocket – his personal good-luck charm. Even now, he wanted to pull the tabs back, slide them into his pocket, where he’d always have a piece of the greatest man he’d ever known.

Instead, he carefully covered them with a cloth patch – a replica of the one worn by the crew of the General Vorkraft. Once, Koudelka, Sergeant Bothari, and Admiral Vorkosigan had been the only survivors of that crew. Now he was the only one left, the last survivor.

Wordlessly, Drou passed him the igniter, then took his free hand.

Kou lit the offering, his hand tightening around hers as they watched the flame smolder and catch. “All my life is your gift, sir,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

When the offering had burned to ashes, Drou carefully tapped the pan out into the shallow ocean water, as was their habit. She took longer than she normally did, giving her husband a chance to gain his feet without being watched, to blink away the tears she knew would be in his eyes. Kou wasn’t the only one that the Vorkosigans had helped save. Cordelia Vorkosigan had not just given Drou a chance to serve – she had become something like the older sister Drou had hoped for, one who had helped Drou make her own way in a changing world. It was a debt that neither of them could ever hope to repay. She could imagine what her life would have been like if Cordelia Naismith had never become Cordelia Vorkosigan, and it was not a picture she wanted to think about.

Drou took his hand again as they turned towards the house, where it was likely that their family would be starting to stir. “Not just your life,” she said quietly. “All _our_ life was his gift.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this!
> 
> Canon compliant as of Cryoburn.


End file.
